


Hard Feelings

by Definitely_Lost



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:15:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25621222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Definitely_Lost/pseuds/Definitely_Lost
Summary: Fingon rushes Maedhros back from Thangorodrim and to safety.
Relationships: Fingon | Findekáno & Maglor | Makalaurë, Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo
Comments: 1
Kudos: 31





	Hard Feelings

Fingon’s fingers grasped Thorondor’s feathers for dear life as the mighty eagle sped through the clouds, fast as the winds themselves. In his other hand, Maedhros the Tall and his lifelong friend was gasping for breath, his weakened lungs ruined by the darkness of Thangorodrim. He shook feverently, though Fingon could feel no cold, and his remaining hand clutched Fingon’s jerkin with all the strength left in his broken body. 

“Hang on a little longer,” Fingon whispered in his ear. “We are almost to Mithrim. Can you see it, Maitimo? Your brothers are waiting for you.” 

Maedhros gave no sign he could hear Fingon, but the son of Fingolfin refused to believe that his friend was lost. “Faster, Thorondor,” he called to the great eagle. “He is fading!” 

The stump where Maedhros’ hand had only just been was crudely bandaged, the red on his blood soaking through the fabric and staining Fingon’s clothes as well as Thorondor’s feathers. Fingon used his mouth to tear another strip of cloth from his tunic and pressed it to Maedhros’ wrist. 

They spotted the encampment (where the sons of Fëanor had taken to settling after their father’s death) not far in the distance. Fingon’s heart lifted and for a moment, he dared to believe that everything was alright, before a pained gasp from Maedhros brought him back to reality. He shook his idealism out of his head and gripped Thorondor even tighter as the great eagle began the descent from the clouds. 

Maglor, ever watchful as he was, spotted them quickly and began calling for a healing team. They swiftly brought out a stretcher made from wood and fabric, and when the wide wings of the Eagle King stirred the dust on the ground as they landed, the elves feared not the great bird. Fingon did not hesitate to hand Maedhros over to more capable hands, but as Maedhros felt his best friend’s hands leave him, he was loathe to be separated, and reached out for Fingon again, muttering weakly, “ _ Finno… _ ” 

Fignon’s heart ached at Maedhros’ pleas, but knew that at this point, there was nothing he could do to help. He would have to let him go. 

Maglor studied his older brother as he was carried away. Fingon grew shifty when Maglor’s eyes fell upon the bleeding stump on Maedhros’ right arm, his horror obvious. 

Fingon slipped from Thorondor’s broad shoulders, giving the eagle a pat on the neck. Thorondor angled his head to be level with Fingon, and Fingolfin’s son pressed his forehead against the Eagle King’s. “Thank you, great one. I could not have done it without you. If ever there is something a meager elf such as I could do to repay you, I will gladly oblige.” Thorondor let out a mighty cry, and spread his wings yet again. Away he flew, into the fading sun, and soon his shape disappeared into the clouds just as he had come. 

Fingon waited until the silence was nearing painful to face Maglor. Though the two had once been allies, all he could see in the Fëanorian’s eyes was the light of the fire that had destroyed the swan ships. The same fire he had seen in their father’s eyes from the moment he and Fëanor first met; only, he hadn’t known yet what it was.  _ Get yourself together, _ Fingon scolded himself.  _ You did this also to repair the rift between your two houses. It was all for nothing if you can’t get over it yourself.  _

“Thank you, Findekáno,” Maglor said slowly. “I… don’t know what I can do to thank you. You brought my brother back to me. To us. And after all we had done to you, and your family… I admit, I am ashamed now.”

Fingon put a hand on Maglor’s shoulder. “Kanafinwë, I have come to terms with what you did, and I believe that you thought what you were doing was right. Your father had a convincing voice, and you no doubt felt the need to support him as a son.” He swallowed, his throat seemingly made of tree sap. “I do not blame any of you for burning the boats.”

Maglor wasn’t that easy to fool, apparently. “Findekáno, you do not need to lie to me. If you still have hard feelings, I understand. I would as well.”

Fingon looked at the ground and smiled. “Well, then, since you have seen right through my pleasantries, yes, I suppose I do have some hard feelings.” He laughed a bit, though there was no humor behind it. “I just wish I knew what had possessed you and your father and all your kin to leave us behind like that.”

“Not quite all our kin,” Maglor said vaguely. “Allow me to ease your conscience about one thing,  _ nildo _ , if I still may call you that. When Atar told us to burn the ships, all of us did indeed sway to his words, all of us but one. Maitimo refused, his thoughts only of you. He was the first among us to speak, originally, asking our father to allow him to return and fetch you. He wished not to be parted from your side, and stood aside while the rest of us wielded the fire. I see now that he made the right choice. Again,  _ avatyarlmë _ , for all that we had done against your family was wrong. You have shown great bravery in rescuing Maitimo. If ever we can repay you, we will endeavour to do so.” Maglor then turned away, and ran off to another semi-built shelter, presumably to bring his brothers the news of Maedhros’ return. 

Fingon suddenly felt very alone, standing in the grass by himself, covered with Maedhros’ blood. What Maglor had just said… that Maedhros hadn’t forgotten him… that he’d wanted to go back for him… could it be true? Fingon had never dared to hope that perhaps his once-closest friend had not forsaken him, but now that he heard the words from Maglor’s own lips, he felt a flicker of…  _ love  _ in his heart, he supposed. 

Having nowhere else to go, he decided to follow the healers into the tent he had taken Maedhros to. 

He pushed aside the flap of fabric that was the door and met with bustling action inside. It was a large tent, so it was easy to navigate around the medics running back and forth, but the bustling still made the air feel rather stuffy. Fingon pitied poor Maedhros greatly in that moment, for he knew how he hated being fussed over. He hoped his friend was unconscious, for the cleaning redressing of his wrist would be very painful. Then, Fingon’s mind drifted back to the torture he must have gone through in Morgoth’s captivity, and he guessed that nothing the healers could do to him would ever be worse than that. 

The healers, surprisingly, let Fingon approach Maedhros and stand at his side. The redhead was lying on his back in the middle of the tent, on a wooden table of a sort. His right arm was being washed in clean water, and the Feanorian whimpered as the raw flesh was exposed to the no-doubt icy liquid. Despite Fingon’s hopes, Maedhros was definitely still conscious. He was struggling to lie still, his remaining hand in a tight fist at his side, and his eyes squeezed shut. The other cuts and bruises along his body were immaterial right now, it seemed, as the medics had a more pressing issue with his severed wrist. 

Fingon gripped Maedhros’ left hand and closed the Fëanorian’s fist around his own hand, so they grasped each other. Maedhros cracked open his eyes and turned his head to face Fingon. 

“You are going to be alright,  _ meldonya _ **_._ ** Just listen to my voice. They are healing you, Russo. You’re going to be better after this.” 

“My hand…” Maedhros whimpered. “How can things ever be the same…?” 

Fingon felt a pang of guilt in his chest. It was his fault that Maedhros’ hand was missing now. It was his fault that his friend was broken, that he would never be whole again, that not all of him had been rescued from Thangorodrim. “ _ Meldonya _ , you will be okay. I am so sorry that I cut off your hand, but I did not see another way to rescue you, and… I couldn’t let you die there. I could not kill you. I am sorry I wasn’t strong enough.” 

“No, I am sorry…!” Maedhros trailed off and winced as a leafy salve was applied to his wrist that must have stung. “I… I should have been stronger… I should have stood up to my father, back when he decided to burn the boats. I should have done more. I am so sorry. I have never stopped regretting it. I should not have left you behind.” A few tears spilled from the corner of his eyes, though Fingon could not tell if they were from pain or remorse. He supposed a mixture of both. 

“Maitimo, you have nothing to apologize for.” Fingon gave his hand a squeeze. “I know you did not burn the boats. I know you refused. Nothing was your fault.” He put a hand on the top of Maedhros’ head and the redhead’s eyes met his. Fingon smiled. 

Despite the pain, Maedhros smiled back. 


End file.
